


I Found Love Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be

by F1NCHL0CKE



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gay baby sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, John is a Saint, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Is Not Okay, how tf does one even write decent fanfiction, like seriously, theres not plot it's literally just fluff, this is really only fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F1NCHL0CKE/pseuds/F1NCHL0CKE
Summary: I don't know how to title things, so I'm just naming my stories after songs in my playlistUhh, basically Sherlock is sad and gay, and John comforts him.That's it.I'm a sucker for Johnlock cuddles
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76





	I Found Love Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my best work, oop-
> 
> Also wtf am I doing

Sherlock Holmes was absolutely smitten with John Watson, and by god did it scare the hell out of him.

For most of his life, Sherlock had thought he was incapable of love, hence the reason he’d always called himself a sociopath. But then John Hamish Watson limped into St. Bart’s, and proceeded to completely alter what Sherlock thought he knew about himself.

From the moment Sherlock first locked eyes with John, he had fallen head over heels for the man. He wasn’t aware of the fact until after John had shot the cabbie. 

Years had passed since that night. Too many years in fact. Too many years of hurt, longing, loneliness, and endless pining(on Sherlock’s part).

There had been times, before The Fall, that Sherlock thought he had caught a glimpse of something in John’s gaze. Something that must have mirrored the way Sherlock looked when he saw his best friend. But then it had all been snatched from beneath their feet. 

Sherlock sometimes mourned the loss of what could have been, and would stand by the window in Baker Street, taking long drags of his cigarette, and stare out at the night sky. He was lost in his own head during these times, and would often spend hours standing and staring until his legs ached with exhaustion, forcing him to put out his cigarette and retreat to his room. John would occasionally stand beside his flatmate during these times, not speaking, but offering wordless comfort.

Sherlock greatly appreciated it. Appreciated  _ him _ .

They would stand there, side by side, watching London through the window, until they both went their separate ways.

This night was different.

John was working a late night at the clinic, he had texted Sherlock an hour previous with the news. A night without John was hateful, and Sherlock could feel something twist unpleasantly in his gut. He’d spent years alone without John, so why did the prospect of spending a few measly hours without him seem so painful?

John was back. He was back in Baker Street, back in Sherlock’s life, and this time he wasn’t leaving. At least, that’s what Sherlock hoped. 

He couldn’t bear the idea of John leaving again, hell, just the thought of it sent a shiver through his tall frame. God, he was a right mess wasn’t he? Sherlock was stupidly in love. He couldn’t remember a time when he  _ hadn’t _ loved John. He loved John so much that it hurt. 

Sherlock shouldn’t have been surprised when he felt hot tears streaming down his pale face. He’d spent years trying to repress his emotions, and it was at times like these where it all just became too overwhelming.

Wiping his wet eyes on the back of his hand, Sherlock made his way to John’s chair and sunk into it, relishing the way John’s familiar scent blanketed over him. He nuzzled his head deeper into the rough material to hide the tears that were now spilling rapidly out of his eyes. He didn’t know why he was crying, there was honestly no logical reason. He had everything he could ever want, and by everything he meant John. 

He stayed like that for hours, sobbing quietly into the cushions of John’s chair.

He didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs.

He didn’t hear the door opening.

He didn’t hear the sound of John carefully approaching Sherlock’s shuddering form. 

“Sherlock,” John quietly murmured, moving to kneel down beside his chair and gently threading his hand into Sherlock’s wild nest of curls. “Is everything alright?” He asked, his voice low and concerned. 

“Yes. I’m fine John.” Sherlock rasped, hating the way his voice wavered. He was thankful that John didn’t press, and instead got to his feet. 

“Budge up.” The doctor whispered, carefully climbing into the space Sherlock offered in the chair.

He pulled Sherlock into his lap, the detective’s head pillowed on his friend’s chest, wrapping Sherlock in his arms. 

“You’re okay,” John soothed, pressing his lips into Sherlock’s soft hair. “You’re alright Sherlock, I promise.”

Sherlock knew he was okay, but he didn’t protest. Instead, he just buried his head deeper in John’s oatmeal jumper and sighed shakily. 

“John.” He whimpered, allowing the man in question to soothingly rub his hands up and down his back.

“You’re okay.” John repeated, pressing a soft, feather-light kiss on Sherlock’s forehead.

For once, Sherlock allowed himself to believe it. Things would be okay.


End file.
